


happy accident

by kinneyb



Series: short & sweet [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 12:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: The first time it happened had been accident. Really. Jaskier had been walking over with two ales and he’d slipped on a coin (a coin that had been tossed for him, ironically). The ales went flying out of his hands, as expected, and splashed all over a poor waitress while Jaskier stumbled and fell, literally, in Geralt’s lap.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: short & sweet [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603609
Comments: 18
Kudos: 774





	happy accident

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

The first time it happened had been accident. _Really_. Jaskier had been walking over with two ales and he’d slipped on a coin (a coin that had been tossed for _him_ , ironically). The ales went flying out of his hands, as expected, and splashed all over a poor waitress while Jaskier stumbled and fell, literally, in Geralt’s lap.

Geralt had stared down at him, and Jaskier had stiffened, expecting _some_ kind of reaction. But all he did was ask, “Are you okay?”

\-- and Jaskier simply blinked, nodding dumbly.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied and waved over another waitress -- _not_ the one Jaskier had just soaked -- and ordered two more beers. 

Jaskier sat up. Geralt obviously felt him shifting, but he still didn’t push him away. What the _fuck?_

“Jaskier,” Geralt said gruffly, and Jaskier startled --

_Here it comes,_ he thought, but Geralt simply shifted in his chair and said,

“While you fetching those, I accepted a job. Should only take a night.”

Jaskier nodded dumbly again, at a loss for words. He rarely found himself unable to think of something to say but in that moment he was genuinely, truly speechless. He was sitting in Geralt’s lap, and _he was letting him._

“You’ll be okay on your own, right?” he heard Geralt ask, ever the worrywart.

(He pretended he wasn’t, but Jaskier knew better.)

Jaskier nodded, finally finding the words to say, “Yes, of course. Go, do your -- “ he gestured wildly “ -- witcher-ing or whatever.”

He snorted and soon after the waitress returned with their drinks, and Geralt grabbed one from her, taking a gulp. He leaned back in his chair, jostling Jaskier, who nearly spilled his drink down the front of his shirt.

Geralt still didn’t say anything. Jaskier watched him, but he didn’t even _look_ perplexed about their current situation. He looked relaxed --

Well, as _relaxed_ as he ever did, which was still stiff as fuck but... _less_ so.

“Hmm,” Jaskier said with a thoughtful tilt of his head, eyes twinkling. _Interesting_.

After that, it just kind of started happening all the time. Probably helped that Geralt’s lap was _unexpectedly_ comfortable. He had strong thighs, thick ones, but that just made Jaskier feel nicely supported in his lap.

More often than not, he wasn’t even _sitting._ Not _really,_ more like just sprawled out across Geralt’s lap.

They did it in taverns while Geralt was talking to folks about potential jobs.

(The people always looked at them oddly, but never said anything, probably because Geralt could’ve killed them with his bare hands. _Smart_.)

In the woods. Jaskier _loved_ doing it, then, because he was always so cold and the warmth of Geralt’s body underneath him was _amazing_.

They did it when they were around other people, when they were alone.

Jaskier was surprised that Geralt never had a problem with it -- _actually_ , he’d gotten to the point where if Jaskier shifted wrong in his lap, he’d put a hand on his back to steady him.

It wasn’t something they _discussed_ , though. Like most aspects of their relationship, it had just happened one day and they both accepted it without complaint because -- and Jaskier was just guessing here -- they both enjoyed it. He knew _he_ certainly did,

and he knew Geralt was not the kind of man to do anything he didn’t like it.

Did he mention Geralt had the most comfortable lap in the world? Because _he_ did. And Jaskier had sat in _many_ laps, both belonging to men and women, but none of them compared to Geralt’s lap.

Like with most good things, though, eventually something -- or _someone_ \-- had to screw it up. Yennefer had sought them out for help with a quest, something to do with... _something_.

(Jaskier hadn’t really been listening.)

((He never really listened when she opened her mouth.))

Jaskier had gotten so used to sitting in or sprawling himself across Geralt’s lap that he didn’t even think twice before he did it. Geralt’s hand went to steady him automatically, and he smiled, cheeky, before he noticed Yennefer was staring at them like they were out of their minds.

_“Really?”  
_

Jaskier stiffened. He focused on Geralt’s hand, warm on his back. He had always assumed if someone, _especially_ Yennefer, brought it up that Geralt would finally come back to his senses and push him off.

Never want to do it again.

But Geralt -- his favorite fool -- just looked at her. “What?”

Jaskier watched as Yennefer rolled her eyes. “You know what?” she said, looking exhausted beyond her years. “Never mind. Just help me with this like you promised.” She shoved a big, heavy book across the table. Something to do with her quest, probably.

Jaskier promptly stopped listening. He shifted in Geralt’s lap, resting his head against Geralt’s shoulder. He watched as Geralt he said something, looking just as exhausted as Yennefer.

Reaching up, he bravely tried something new, brushing his knuckles against the exposed part of Geralt’s neck. Slow and light.

Geralt’s hand twitched against his back, but he didn’t stop him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he suppressed a grin and did it again. And _again_. He could _feel_ Geralt relaxing underneath him, the tension seeping out of his shoulders.

_Bingo_ , he thought.

After that, Jaskier continued to sit -- among other things -- in his lap. But day by day, he tried new things. Like running his fingertips over his jaw. Grabbing Geralt’s hand and tracing circles, idly, in the palm of his hand. Eventually, Geralt tried new things, too.

He ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, rubbed his back lazily.

It wasn’t until, one night, that Jaskier surged up and kissed him that things _really_ changed. Entirely for the better, of course, because Geralt -- the surprising bastard -- not only returned the kiss, but gripped his hips like a starved man and deepened it.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoy my fics and are interested in helping me keep making them:
> 
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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